


Not Going Home

by wifidelis



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, Brutal Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, M/M, Mercy Killing, ONLY TEARS, Serial Killer Alastor Strikes Again, Suicide, Surgery, have fun, i lied there is a happy ending, me? i cried while writing this, rated M FOR MURDER, there is no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifidelis/pseuds/wifidelis
Summary: [ Love gives life to the lifeless.Love lights a flame in the heart that is cold.Love brings hope to the hopeless and gladdens the hearts of the sorrowful. ... Abdu'l Baha, Paris Talks, p. 179 ]Husk gets that love ripped away from him in an instant.By his own hand.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 257





	1. Not Goin' Home

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have a ton to say other than i am not a medical professional, i did a lot more google searching that probably put me on an nsa watchlist, and this made me cry. a lot.
> 
> tl;dr? al dies and husk is there with him this time

Love gives life to the lifeless.  
Love lights a flame in the heart that is cold.   
Love brings hope to the hopeless and gladdens the hearts of the sorrowful.

**From** : Alastor

_ I should be home around 10. No need to stay awake for me. _

Except it was 9:54pm and Husker was pacing up and down the hallway, trying  _ not  _ to think about what Alastor was doing right now. He never exactly understood  _ how  _ Alastor expected him to be able to sleep when he knew for a fact Al was out committing hell knows what, and would saunter in at probably 10pm on the dot with a grin on his face that never fully reached the dark pits of sludge and grime in his eyes, toss his bag down and ask Husker why he was looking at him the way he did when he came home like this, with small flecks of dried blood on his cheeks and splashes around the cuffs of his shirt.

_ BZZT. BZZT. BZZT. _

The alarm on his phone was going off. 10pm. Panic gripped his heart almost immediately.

_ Where the hell was Al? _

Five years. Five years, and Al had never come home late. Sometimes early, almost always on time, but never late.

He checked his texts. Nothing.

Hands clenched tightly around the phone.  _ Something was wrong  _ something was  _ very  _ wrong because yeah, yeah the love of his life was most certainly a very prolific serial killer and it was something he just didn’t like to think about but who was he to judge because yeah Al was insane deep down but so was Husk because Husk did arguably worse things in-

_ Where the fuck was Alastor? _

He called, he didn’t care. Alastor made him put a fuck ton of security walls and VPNs on his phone the moment Husk found out.

… … … … … … 

Voicemail.

10:04pm.

Husker sunk down against the wall between their bedroom and their shared office, staring at the home screen of his phone. Alastor. Alastor’s beaming smile and bright eyes in a candid photo his secretary had sent him on Al on the air with his headphones on, legs kicked up on the desk, his notes and papers on his lap. Larger than life, doing the thing he loved the most  _ loved the second most? third most?  _ with his glasses shoved up on his forehead. The text Mary Anne sent him was  _ This is your husband. Are you proud? Because I can hear him from my desk. _

10:09pm. Husk called again because there was a cold hand of anxiety around his heart because there was  _ something super duper incredibly wrong _ . Alastor wasn’t ever late. And if he was going to be, Husk would know. Alastor was… sadistic, but not towards Husker. Usually. Unless he was mad. Which was rare.

… 10:15pm.

Husker was about to call again when text with a loud ass alarm on it slammed through everything else going through his head. He cussed loudly and opened it, heart dropping down to his stomach, maybe lower.

A location. Bronx River Forest? Husker’s hands were shaking when the next text came through.

**From** : Alastor

_ shot  _

Husk was moving before he’d even fully processed the fact that Alastor, Alastor Gabriel fucking Roux was possibly bleeding out in the middle of nowhere and was probably scared and alone and cold and-

Husker ripped the medikit out from under their bed, hauling it over his back. Alastor didn’t know it existed, but Husk kept one in his car and under their bed. Just in case this ever happened. Just in case Husk would ever have to be a medic again, on the person he would vastly prefer not to ever have to do surgery on-

_ Stop it you don’t know how bad it is. _

Husk grabbed his keys and ran out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.

Alastor was currently hanging out partially submerged in river water, hand clamped over his two preciously precariously placed wounds. Trying anything to slow the bleeding down. Because  _ “you have to stop the bleeding” husker said _ if  _ anyone  _ found him besides the one person who needed to, he was going to be in a world of even more hurt. His chest was heaving and shaking with the effort it was taking to breathe, the pain from the action enough to send tendrils of fire snaking through his every vein. Every little action he made  _ hurt  _ and he didn’t know why he was surprised because why wouldn’t getting shot hurt like a motherfucker? On top of getting chased by a feral dog, what else could be better?

_ “You’re gonna burn you fucker-” _

_ Alastor hummed, raising an eyebrow. “I’m aware.” _

_ His victim screamed when a knife jammed itself inside his mouth, serrated edge ripping into the soft flesh of the roof of his mouth, clicking against teeth as Al tried to get a grip on his tongue. When the knife finally found its mark, Al slammed down on the gentleman’s throat, the scream strangled as the muscular organ slipped and fell down against his ear, blood pooling in his throat. Al wasn’t sure if he was done playing yet, so he flipped him onto his side with a swift kick as he stood so the little fucker couldn’t choke on his blood. _

_ The man whimpered when Al pulled another knife off his belt, this one perfectly smooth and curved. The serrated edge fell back in its holder, smeared with a deep maroon. He was struggling against the cable ties around his wrist, and Al noted just a little too late that they were slightly loose- _

_ -slightly loose because one hand quickly got free and snatched Al’s ankle, dragging him down onto the forest floor. He hit hard, venom dripping from his mouth as Al cursed in a language supposedly unknown to the human tongue, temper flaring when the other hand came loose and grabbed the gun- _

_ -Alastor swung the knife down right as the fucker’s hand closed around the revolver holstered against the side of his chest, hand clamped over his mouth as the first bullet lodged in his ribcage, muted by the silencer, stabbing with a crunch through the softest part of the skull right as the last bullet found its home in his abdomen- _

_ -fighting the tears forming in his eyes and Alastor gagged as bile rose in his throat, hissing when a soft bark- _

_ “Are you fucking kidding me?” Alastor growled as a feral dog ripped through the underbrush. It opened its maw, poised to rip out his throat when Al flashed the knife, slicing right into its neck. The dog collapsed, a gurgling mewl bubbling from its chest. Alastor staggered to his feet, adrenaline surging through his veins. God he needed to shut the fuck up. The bullets seemed to be scraping against his bones for added agony, which was fair, but god DAMN if it wasn’t ANNOYING. _

_ Robbed of the pleasure of a kill and attacked? He was pissed. _

_ It took everything to drag the two mutilated corpses together. The effort was making him lightheaded, and yeah, he was losing a fuckton of blood and his head was spinning, but he had to get rid of evidence- _

_ Alastor turned and fumbled through his backpack where it hung off a tree, sweat dripping down his face.  _ Shock,  _ Husker’s voice rang from somewhere deep in his brain. Alastor giggled, biting his lip. Fuck. His mind went somewhere else as he found a stick thick enough on the ground, stabbing it into the dirt while dropping a powder of his mother’s design onto the ground with it. He barely managed to get a cohesive circle together, leaning back against the tree with a cough. _

_ He raised shaking hands, one still clamped around a knife. The circle reacted immediately, glowing neon green as the spell slipped out of his lips in a murmured wheeze, eyes rolling back in his head as the shadows loomed larger and the wind picked up. _

_ Alastor clenched his fist, and the scene before him was gone. He fell to his knees, coughing.  _

Eddie.

_ He fumbled for his phone, ignoring the streak of blood on it. 10:11pm. _

_ Fuck fuck fuck. _

_ He had to. _

_ His brain was fuzzy and fear was setting in, he opened his location up for Husker to find, praying to hell and back that Husker was too anxious to actually sleep without seeing him safe at home. And, knowing damn well the cold creeping into him was shock, sent the second text. _

shot. 

_ He decided to move down to the river when he heard a noise sniffing through the underbrush. _

Alastor tried to bite down the anxiety building and wait out the storm.

When he found Al’s car, Husker wasn’t sure if it was relief of being a bit closer to Al or another surge of adrenaline induced desperation and fear propelling him forward. The medikit was clipped around his chest as Alastor’s location pinged back once more, a little red dot the one thing standing between Alastor’s life or death. Husker pulled out a machete (another thing he never thought he’d have to use again) and started hacking his way through, steadily drawing closer to the location.

Nerves and his heart pounding in his chest were all he could feel. His entire body was locked with fear, but adrenaline and  _ love  _ a stubborn desire to not let someone else bleed out before him was taking over. It was like going back on autopilot as he fought his way to the dot, but when he got to the river, he froze.

How the  _ fuck  _ did a shot man, y’know, whatever, it didn’t matter. Husker whipped out a flashlight  _ because yes he thought of everything he might need besides blood bags and oh boy he had something to make up for that  _ and ran it down the river. Nothing.

Anxiety anxiety anxiety where the fuck was he.

Husk double checked the location, and then prayed Al’s phone wasn’t on silent. The dial tone filled the empty night, and then like a light in darkness, he heard the familiar chime of  _ Minnie the Moocher.  _ Husk followed that sound with the flashlight, moving towards it when he caught sight of a flash of silver. He’d almost run past it and if he wasn’t used to looking for things like this in the past, he might’ve missed it, but he backtracked and hovered around the silver eventually finding more trapped around a waist with a black knife belt, maroon dress pants soaked even darker-

_ Al _

Husker threw himself down the riverbank, boots squelching into the mud. He hooked arms under Al’s and heaved, dragging the toothpick of a man up the riverbank, not stopping because he wasn’t ready to see if there was a pulse because he couldn’t tell if it was river water making him this cold or death seeping in. Whatever the fuck it was, Husk  _ didn’t care  _ because as soon as his boots his solid earth again, he set Al down as gently as possible  _ with no reaction shut up shut up shut up _ and opened the pack, flashlight clenched between sharp teeth, as he pulled out sutures and long tweezers before he finally got the nerve to stick two fingers against Al’s  _ blood splattered  _ jugular.

Fuck fuck fuck he could barely feel anything, but something was there with a slow, weak thump of Al’s heart trying to fight off cold and shock and whatever else trauma was being concealed.

He needed Al awake.

He shook him gently. Nothing no reaction zip nada zero. Husk, despite his heart screaming at him, shook harder, trying to jostle around the area where he guessed the bullets were by the blood pooling around Al, soaking into his pants. Finally,  _ finally _ , Al’s eyes peeled open with an insanely feral growl, searching through the darkness clouding the edges of his vision when dark brown fell on Husk, looking… empty.

“I-i’m…” a cough. “Im-impressed.”

Husk was ripping his shirt open. “Did you think I lied about being a corpsman or something?”

Alastor let out a very weak very airheaded laugh that sounded more like a repeated gasp of pain as Husk shone the flashlight down at a red slicked chest, eventually pinpointing the two entry holes. He placed a hand firmly on Al’s back and gently tried to move him to the side, ignoring Al’s muffled extraordinarily weak cry of pain, cutting quickly through the back of the shirt for a clearer picture and

and  _ fucking fantastic  _ Al had an exit wound right through the right side of his abdomen. The one in his chest did not which scared the shit out of him and brought fabulous flashbacks of  _ franklin nicky  _ but Husk started working immediately on cauterizing bleeding and trying to make sure because Al  **had** to be  **okay**

Once that was more or less taken care of and clogged, Al was once again on his back, glaring up at the stars like they’d personally offended him. Husk held the tweezers between his teeth as hands gently pressed against Alastor’s sides looking for  _ internal bleeding bruising swelling anything that suggested he was dying except he  _ **_was_ ** and nearly sobbing in relief when Al never made a sound and bruising never surfaced. Husk quickly handled the entrance wound, ripping tweezers out of his mouth to chase after the one that looked like it was lodged in Al’s ribs.

“Al, you with me?” Husker was shocked his voice wasn’t shaking but he was on  _ autopilot _ adrenaline as Al’s eyes rolled over to him.

“E-eddie…”

“You’re gonna be okay, but this is gonna hurt and I need you to be quiet, okay? You need to stay awake and stay still, do you understand?” Husker ripped a piece of cloth off Al’s shirt, cramming it into the smaller man’s mouth. Alastor managed some kind of nod and Husk found himself wondering how in the hell Alastor was still conscious when Husk pinned Al’s wrists down with his knees, hovering over the rest of his shot up form before plunging the long fangs of the tweezers in.

The tears creeping out of Al’s eyes were immediate, as was his eyes trying to roll back in his head, but to his credit, Al dug his fingers into the dirt and coughed down his cries of pain. He was crying when Husker felt the bullet, clamping hard and tugging the slug out before dropping it onto a piece of gauze. Alastor’s breathing was shallow and labored as Husk let up, looking to the bullet when his heart dropped because it was only half of it meaning half of it was still inside Al so Husk went back in, poking around ribs and trying to tune out Al’s garbled screams of agony when he found the second half, dangerously precariously close to what should be a lung or heart or  _ whatever _ , throwing the second half to the side and  _ slapping  _ the plastic seal over it because the last thing Al needed to do was stop breathing from a collapsed lung.

He glanced at Al once the seal was over, and recognized with a growing sense of horror that everything he was doing was too little too late. Obviously. Obviously because he had no idea how long it had been since Al was actually shot and you always needed  _ 20 minutes  _ to get there in a certain time frame and holy shit he’d probably lost too much  **blood-**

Alastor was watching him.

Husker decided to be a dumbass.

He went into the bag and pulled out a small box, flicking it open. A small pouch was ripped into and Husk downed two iron tablets without thinking twice, pulled out an IV tube. Alastor made a small curious sound when Husk tied a band around his arm, the smaller man gasping out when Husk ripped his sleeve and hauled his arm up, swiping an alcohol pad over a part of dirt streaked blood stained skin and stabbing the needle in once he managed to pop out Alastor’s veins, flexing his own arm and stabbing the other side into his forearm with a hiss and an enormously guilty feeling of wincing when Al was literally bleeding out and shot but Husk watched the red spurt out of his arm before steadily filling the tube and

and an enormous sigh of relief when the makeshift blood bag that Husk had turned into worked. He nearly laughed as tears dripped down, holding his arm over his head, because the last person he did this for  _ was nicky and it failed _ .

He placed two fingers against Al’s jugular. … Was it his own delusion, or was it stronger?

Was it wishful thinking?

“E-ed...die…?”

Husk was ripped out of whatever world he’d taken residence in to see Alastor still watching him, eyelids drooping. Husk growled and pinched him, jolting Alastor back into his reality, the reality Husker  **_needed wanted had to have him in_ ** . Alastor’s breaths were still shaky and he seemed out of it, but he was stabilizing.

He was stabilizing.

“Stay awake,” Husker snapped. “You have to stay awake.”

“...  _ fatigué _ .”

[... tired.]

“I don’t care, you need to stay awake,” Husker’s voice was strained because he was really trying not to cry as he watched his blood  _ O negative  _ drip into Alastor’s veins and gradually, very gradually did life slowly reappear in Alastor’s face despite his eyes wanting to close and he was shaking.

Shaking? Shaking cold and clammy still rapid heart beat not a stable heart beat dilated pupils dull eyes shallow breathing- 

_ How was he still in fucking shock  _ “Alastor, Alastor hey, hey hey, HEY-”

Alastor was out.

Husk went into  _ autopilot  _ and ripped into the bag for the one thing that could fix whatever the hell was wrong, still trying to hold up his arm to keep blood flow moving, but Alastor still had a heart rate because he was still breathing just a little, but enough, and Husker needed his heart rate stabilized now now  **now** so he ripped the cap off the pen and slammed into Alastor’s heart, knowing damn well he definitely just broke a rib and praying to everything that ever had dominion over anything that he hadn’t jostled the bullet wound and 

and dark brown eyes flew open and Husker threw away the adrenaline shot as Alastor sucked in a large breath, coughing and trembling as fingers pressed against his jugular

and and stable.

“Don’t move. Don’t fucking move.”

Husk had his free hand on Alastor holding him down as Alastor was trying to regain any semblance of what was going on. Eventually big brown eyes fell on Husk again and stayed there, head limply laying against the inseam of Husker’s thigh. It was silent in the forest except for Alastor’s labored breathing and Husker sniffing back otherwise silent tears.

“Eddie.”

Husker looked down. Alastor was smiling, looking at Husker’s hand. Husker quietly lifted it off of Alastor’s boney shoulder, taking a cold hand in his own. He was starting to feel light headed. He had no idea what time it was. But when Alastor squeezed, he grounded himself.

Keep Alastor alive.

**Keep Alastor alive.**

“Eddie…?”

“Yeah?”

Alastor squeezed his hand. “I-i love you.”

“I love you, too, Al.”

**“... I’m not going home, Eddie.”**

Husker’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. The last person. To say those words-

**Nicky.**

“Alastor, please,” Husk’s voice was weak. “You can’t leave me behind too.”

He was sobbing. Ugly sobbing, yet Al still found the strength to cup his cheek, swiping a very cold thumb over a very warm cheek.

“Al,  **_please_ ** , for the love of God,  **_please_ ** don’t leave me too,” Husk couldn’t see past the tears. “I… I didn’t… I can’t be… me, without  **_you_ ** . I’m not whole, I’m not functional, I mean fuck, you’re the only reason I’m not a husk anymore- You can’t fucking do this to me. You all always leave me behind and I’m-”

Alastor was crying. For the first time, Alastor was crying. In front of Husk, not hiding his face, just bare and exposed tears. A sob shook his chest and he gritted his teeth, trying to not let the sounds escape. Husk slowly removed the IV, popping it out of his arm first, then Al’s. He threw it towards the bag, praying that what felt like a gallon of his own blood now circulating through Al’s veins was enough.

He laid down next to Al, burying his face in his shoulder. Alastor’s hand knotted in Husk’s hair, shaking. Husker eventually found the strength to lean over him, swiping tears out of Al’s face, cutting through blood and mud and grime and hell knows what else. Alastor shook his head, inhaling sharply.

“I love you, I love y-you, I-i l-love… y-you-” Alastor sounded like he was praying.

“Shhhhh. I know,” Husk’s voice wasn’t anything more than a whisper. “I know. I know. I know, Al. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“I-i-i don’t… want-”

A quick glance down at red soaked bandages and a growing circle of red told Husk it didn’t matter what Al wanted. Alastor must’ve saw that because he let out a strangled scream that broke into a sob, letting Husker pull him up against his chest. Alastor’s hand bunched in his shirt, leaving bloody fingerprints. 

“I’m… not going home.”  **Certainty** .

Fear had rooted in Alastor’s voice. Husk looked skyward and tried to strangle down whatever mantra of begging was trying to come out.

“I don’t think so, Al.”

“I love you,” Alastor was shaking again. Husk could feel him going back into shock.

“Al, are you in pain?”

Alastor nodded limply. Husk pulled the revolver out of Alastor’s harness.

“Do you…” Husker was letting the tears fall freely. “Jesus Christ, Al, do you want me to make it stop?”

“I-i want to g-go ho-me,” Alastor coughed. Blood came up with it. Internal bleeding. He saw the bruising starting the form. “W-w-w-with yo-you.”

Husker’s shoulders were trembling. “Al, that’s not- that’s not… an option anymore.”

“E-eddie-”

Husk laughed hollowly, holding Al tighter. “Jesus Christ, Nicky begs to go, you’re begging to stay. And it’s out of my power for both of you.”

He caressed Al’s face, the metal of the gun brushing against his cheek. “How bad does it hurt, Al?”

Al’s shoulders fell, grip trying and failing to tighten on Husk’s shirt. “... A lot…”

“Do you want me to make it stop?”

“I’m... dying?”

“Yeah,” Husk whispered. “You’re a goner, Al.”

Alastor simply pressed the muzzle of the gun against his forehead. Husk sobbed and brought Al’s head up gently, pressing a kiss against Al’s forehead. Alastor leaned up and grabbed Husker by the tie, slamming their mouths together. It was desperate.

Longing. Ill-timed. Trying to hold onto something that was now dead.

It was misery as Husker held him there, both crying and Al struggling to let go of him. But eventually, Husk had to pry him off. He had to pry him off and hold him away. Alastor managed a smile. Husker couldn’t even imagine trying.

“ _ Je t’aime tellement, mon cher, _ ” Alastor whispered.

[I love you so much my dear]

“I love you too,” Husker murmured. “...  _ À bientôt, Al. _ ”

[I’ll see you soon Al]

He pressed the revolver back up against the spot he had kissed moments earlier. And it was all Husker could do to just hold him.

But he wasn’t sure which was worse.

**The lack of sound from the silencer**

**The sensation of Al’s body falling stone limp in his arms, head lolling back with another bullet in it that** **_Husk had put there_ **

**The blood that splattered against his face**

**The immediate hole that ripped into his chest, a hole that he knew he’d never recover from in a lifetime of grief and booze and gambling**

**Or having to close Al’s eyes**

Because they were, as always,

Full of love and adoration,

On him until the very last second.


	2. Goin' Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Husk decides to end it all and pray he finds Alastor in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the follow up to last chapter. i didn't mean for this to have a second part but well. i like happy endings! fuck it!
> 
> husk kills himself and hopes he finds al! my human name for husk is edward! they were married in a human au! HAVE FUN.

He had failed three times before this point. Once with pills, when his sister had accidentally found him and forced him to get his stomach pumped. Then again with a noose, where it failed to snap his neck on the first try. Finally with a gun because he couldn’t pull the trigger on himself and it sent him spiraling because he couldn’t kill his worthless ass but he had no qualms when he stuck it right between the only person he really cared about’s eyes and.

And pulled that trigger.

Husk’s stomach flipped as bile rose up in his throat. He was laying in their… in  _ his  _ bed now, cradling a bottle of Courvoisier because it was Al’s favorite and now Al was gone and everything Husk had ever hated about himself or anyone or anything was all that was left in his shadow.

It had been a year.

A year since Husk  _ murdered  _ his husband and the police declared Alastor a victim of the Red Knife Killer. Haha. Alastor. A victim. Of Red Knife. A victim of himself, of his own fucking hedonism and bullheaded belief that his nightly excursions would never catch up to him.

Husk’s victim.

Husk wanted to throw up.

He’d been crying for hours. His eyes and face stung. Hell, he couldn’t even manage to get tears to form anymore. He was numb. Numb because Alastor wasn’t here and Alastor was what made him feel loved and cherished and whole. Numb because he’d been on a bender since last Friday and now it was a week later on a Sunday night and he couldn’t remember what being sober felt like. He couldn’t remember what life felt like without a crater in his chest.

God fucking dammit why was this so much  **worse** .

Why was this so much  **worse** ? Husk had adored Nicky. Husk  _ watched  _ his childhood friend and crush shove a rifle in his mouth and blow his brains out and that was Husk’s fault, too. Husk had felt just as responsible when he was honorably discharged with his Purple Hearts and Bronze Stars and his mom and dad had picked up his hollowed out shell from the airport. He had felt just as suicidal the moment he got home and sprinted to a liquor store to start boozing himself numb. And it wasn’t just Nicky back then.

It had been Nicky. It had been Franklin, Underwood, Donowitz-

The names just kept piling on.

Alastor.

Husk shoved the bottle in his mouth and  _ chugged _ . 

The empty bottle fell onto the floor when a heavy thump and a loud clunk as it tumbled down into other bottles. Bottles of Smirnoff and Sky and Jack Daniels and Amaretto and Don Julio and Bulliet. He rolled over and buried his face in one of Al’s old sweatshirts _ (a purple LSU hoodie that was at least 15 years old and Al refused to throw away) _ , the familiar stabbing sensation ripping into him from the inside out when he remembered Al’s smell was fading from it. The smell of home. The smell of amber and spices and sun.

He vaguely heard his phone ringing.

He glanced. His brother.

He threw it into their, no,  _ his  _ closet and let it go to voicemail.

Again. 

Again and again and again.

_ “Eddie, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” his mother had pleaded. “Al is gone. I know it’s unfair and-” _

He reached across the bed and snatched another bottle. Opened it. Tasted and felt the burn of the whiskey.

He laid back down with Al’s sweatshirt and pulled up Al’s quilt. The one his mom had made for him when she found out he was moving to cold New York City out of hot New Orleans summers. The heavy quilt that could smother him if he so desired.

He wanted it to, because the quilt still smelled like Al.

_ “Maman made it for me,” Al had thrown it over them before they had settled in to watch a movie. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. “She was scared I’d be cold up here, but with you around, I don’t think I’ll ever be!” _

Honey colored eyes settled blearily through clouds upon clouds of fog on the picture on Al’s nightstand. Him and Husk. Husk was holding Al from behind while Al was helping Husk’s mom cook Thanksgiving dinner. Al did not understand Thanksgiving, but he loved the food. Husk was smiling while Alastor made stuffing (Al’s favorite part of Thanksgiving) and Alastor was trying to read a recipe because he had no idea what he was doing. They both looked happy. Husk could see the scars on Al’s arms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. And the freckles on Alastor’s cheeks. And Alastor.

Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor Alastor AlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastorAlastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastoralastor

He wanted Alastor.

He wanted Alastor so bad he’d kill for it.

He wanted his stupid randomly clingy but also extremely touch averse husband who cooked him amazing dinners and taught him French and had the sleep schedule of a college student despite being 33 and liked his coffee bitterer than bitter and jumped behind Husk whenever a dog approached them and had a smile like the sun and did not know how to sit in a chair normally and cried when they were watching Bambi and loved his mom and when he went home would run her restaurant for a weekend to give her a break and made Husk laugh with his dorky sense of humor and clung to Husk when he slept and if Husk tried to get up he’d start whining in French and

Al-as-tor.

He’d emptied two more bottles.

The world was fading around him.

It was pleasantly numb.

It was warm.

It smelled like Al.

…

He just wanted Al.

The world wouldn’t give him Al back.

But he’d taken Al away from himself.

So he’d take himself away too.

Warm.

* * *

The moment he woke up in Hell he was looking for Alastor. Because where the hell else would that fucking sociopath be?

Fuck looking like a goddamn Build-a-Bear and being a fucking flying cat thing, all he wanted was Alastor.

It was. Surprisingly hard. To track him down.

And it was by accident that he found him.

Husk had been in a bar lamenting his failures and missing the little shit. It was upper scale, made nice drinks. Nice drinks that got you drunk 10 times as fast. He’d made friends with the bartender through nights at the casino and could often get them for free. Which is what he was doing. He was pleasantly numb after another day of disappointment because he couldn’t find Alastor and with the knowledge of Exterminations, was terrified of the fact that.

That Al might be permanently dead and Husk couldn’t even consider that so he was drinking that terror away.

What he hadn’t been aware of was that Overlords were meeting in this bar tonight. In a private room, but here. In this bar.

Husk had been ripped back into sobriety when someone was thrown through the private room’s window and glass went flying every fucking direction and Husk was ready to fucking bolt with every other rational patron when the one who was thrown through the window growled from where they slammed against the wall. A very violently red form that was now ten times more red as a haunting aura of runes drifted out around it, antlers growing twisted and gnarled as a head snapped up to attention, a cut slashing through grayish skin as a yellow-toothed smile grew and grew and grew. Eyes ticked into radio dials and static was exploding as the cloud of noise grew and grew until you could scarcely see anything else.

The form slammed a microphone-like cane into the floor boards as it rose to its feet and Husk hopped over the bar top and prayed to fucking any living diety that the monster hadn’t seen him.

“CoME hERE, VOX!” It cackled, voice buried under feedback and distorted screams, doubled up and stacked on top of each other. “OR ArE YOu TOO MUCH of a COWARD tO FAcE SomEONE SO OBviOUSLY out of yoUR PathETIC LEAGUE?”

Husk’s ears flattened back as another clamour of feedback erupted and something else stepped through the ruined window, distorted TV laughter coming with it. Shit shit shit. Vox. Vox as in Vox the TV Demon, hell on a cross, these were the  _ Overlords _ -

Then who the hell was this other fucker?

“Of course,  _ BAMBI- _ ”

“For Lucifer’s sake you two,” a new voice joined the fray. A woman’s. Victorian accent. “Cease your pointless chattering. Our meeting has ended. Collect yourselves and return to your miserable abodes before Lucifer rains his wrath upon you.  _ Again _ .”

“Yes, Rosie,” the two voices growled. Vox and this Bambi guy.

There was a snap and the Victorian lady was gone.

“Go fuck yourself,” Vox snapped.

“Not a day in my life,” the other hissed back, voice slowly cooling into something understandable. Vox growled and there was another snap and he was gone.

There was a hiss as shoes crossed over broken glass, footsteps coming closer and closer to the bar before one of the stools creaked, fabric sliding as legs crossed. Something was set on the bartop with a crackling sigh.

“Courvoisier, my friend. On the rocks.”

There was no way in hell this fucker was asking Husk to make him a drink. But why? Was that voice so familiar buried under the static?

An incessant tap. “My, what terrible service! Do I need to be more convincing?”

Oh fuck, he wasn’t messing with that. Husk stood on shaky legs and snatched a glass from under the counter, fetching a bottle of the amber booze and ice, making the drink quickly with professional skill and speed. He clutched it between admittedly trembling claws and turned, trying to use wings as a barrier because holy hell he could be in a world of hurt if he didn’t-

He caught one glimpse of the guy and dropped the glass, letting it shatter on the hardwood as booze and ice scattered about.

There was no fucking way, this wasn’t- this wasn’t happening this was impossible-

His hair was a vivid scarlet now, longer, fading into black at the tips. A black tipped ear twitched in annoyance as antler’s slowly shrunk into smaller black gnarls of bone. Brown turned bloody red eyes showed annoyance despite the yellow, shark toothed smile on his fucking face, blood trickling down from the cut across his stretched cheek. Skin turned greyish and faded and out of the warm olive color. He sighed, tutting, and adjusted his monocle.

“Another, please,” he said with a note of a growl in his throat. “Be sure not to drop the glass this time.”

“A-alas… Alastor…?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “That would be my name, yes.”

His blood ran cold. Husk practically lunged across the bar top, climbing over before grabbing the guy by the shoulder, ignoring the definite murderous intent that sprung into the other demon’s eyes as Husk shoved his bangs up out of his face, looking for  _ it _ when he was unceremoniously thrown to the floor and a dress shoe came down on his stomach  _ hard _ -

“Who in the nine circles do you think you’re dealing with, my friend?” Alastor’s face was friendly, but there was venom in his eyes. In his voice. In his growl. “It’s a shame you’re about to get skinned alive-”

“Alastor, I’m so sorry-”

“Oh, apologies don’t mean a single thing to me! Your flesh will make a delicious meal, however!”

Husk chose to ignore the fact that his husband had apparently become a cannibal in the three years it took to find him and instead grabbed Alastor’s leg, throwing him to the floor. A snarl ripped out of Alastor’s throat like a feral beast when he hit the hardwood, the same freakish aura and noise buzzing around him in a cacophony of perfect chaos as antlers grew and the smile began to flicker when Husk whipped out a simple gold band and shoved it in his face.

Alastor froze as radio dial eyes faded and everything  _ stopped. _

“Why are you here?” Alastor’s voice was very small, his face falling into a dull aching kind of horror. “You- you shouldn’t be here-”

Husk tackled him in a hug, burying his face in Alastor’s shoulder and  _ sobbed _ . Alastor’s arms clamped around him and held him there like his afterlife depended on it. Husk felt Alastor’s body shaking as sharp claws raked through his fur and there was a gentle shush, but from the noise buzzing around Alastor, he himself was upset because he was shaking and Husk couldn’t stop crying but then there was a snap and a suddenly nauseous feeling and then they both fell onto a rather soft bed.

Husk raised a tear-streaked face as his head snapped around, taking in the new surroundings. It was a dark house until the lights snapped on, revealing the same older vintage decor Alastor was always so fond of in life. A small, shy touch against his cheek snapped Husk’s attention back to  _ Alastor  _ who was still smiling, but it seemed incredulous and somewhat scared and shy because Husk definitely didn’t look like Husk except for his eyes and-

“Why are you here?” Alastor’s voice was small. His ears were spaced out sideways and Husk was suddenly struck with how  _ fucking cute he still looked- _ “You… you should be in Heaven-”

“Shut up,” Husk mumbled, tucking his head under Alastor’s chin. “Please just shut up. Just shut up and let me soak in the fact that I fucking found you.”

“Can I change first?” Alastor asked gently. Husk nodded and Alastor sat up, a light push giving him enough space to stand and stride over to a wardrobe. Alastor opened the door and pulled out a soft looking shirt that reminded Husk astutely of the thermals Husk used to wear to bed and a pair of pj pants. Husk watched as Alastor shrugged out of his torn up coat, hanging it up before his bowtie was neatly stored and his belt came undone and his shirt unbuttoned.

Alastor glanced nervously over his shoulder at Husk and Husk found himself wondering vaguely if Alastor still got nervous about people seeing him without clothes on before Alastor sighed and just dropped his shirt.

Husk nearly passed out. Alastor was covered, like absolutely  _ covered  _ in thick scars of varying sizes. He could even see where they disappeared under his pants, the majority of them looking painful and devastatingly large. But what really caught his eye, what really shook him up was a small red X on the lower left side on Alastor’s abdomen.

Where he was shot first.

The small tiny, miniscule scar was more sickeningly shocking to him than the fact Alastor had a small fluffy deer tail that revealed itself when he changed pants. Husk caught sight of the scars lacing down his legs when Alastor removed his monocle and changed it out for glasses, turning prepared to shrug his shirt over his head when Husk let out a low whimper.

“I didn’t realize it was that close to your heart,” his voice was weak. Alastor quickly threw his shirt over his head, hiding two more red Xs before striding over to Husk and throwing himself in bed with him. Husk removed his hat and tie, tossing them to the floor. He saw Alastor’s ear flick in annoyance and couldn’t help cracking a smile before tears started again.

“There’s one between your eyes, too, right?”

“Edward-”

“Let me see it, Al.”

Alastor’s shoulder sagged as he shoved his fluffy bangs up, indeed revealing a bolder X between his eyes. Husk let out a small whine that turned to unstable laughter as claws traced it gingerly before Alastor decided enough was enough and pushed Husk’s paw away, dropping tousled hair back into place. Husk was crying silently before guilt, years and years of gut dropping soul sucking heart wrenching guilt was stacking up as he was looking at what Alastor had been forced to turn into to because of him because Husk couldn’t save him and they weren’t sitting in their bed in their apartment in the Bronx, they were both in Hell and-

“Stop it,” Alastor murmured knowingly, tracing bare scarred fingers against his cheek. It shattered him.

Husk burst into gross sobs and Alastor pulled him against his chest and laid down as Husk’s ears went flat against his skull, tail swishing violently as his wings folded in. He cried and cried and  _ cried  _ against the man he murdered, against the life he ended that should’ve have ended so soon and and and and

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I failed you I fucked up and I couldn’t bring you back and fucking christ, Al, I fucking- I killed you I didn’t try harder and I’m sorry I love you and I’m sorry-”

Alastor shushed him and just held him tighter. “You’re here because of me.”

The emptiness in Alastor’s voice stopped Husk cold. He pressed away, trying to catch Alastor’s bloody red eyes before it registered with him that Alastor wasn’t looking  _ at  _ anything, he was looking through everything. Looking right the hell through and Husk grabbed his face and squeezed, jolting him out of the trance and Alastor’s smile just completely faded because tears were starting and he squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them and the tears were gone but the hollowness remained. 

“Just come here,” Alastor’s voice was empty. Dead. No emotion, no feeling, just emptiness.

Husk slowly let himself get dragged into Alastor’s embrace, his heart skipping a beat when Alastor buried his nose in the top of his head, wrapping around him like a constrictor. Alastor was very, very still as he sat there without a smile, fingers combing through soft fur as Husk continued his mantra of apologies.

Eventually, Alastor had enough. He didn’t move except to raise his head, but he squeezed Husk desperately and tried to control his voice.

“Edward. I was foolish enough to put myself in the position I was in. I was foolish enough to drag you into it and take a cheap way out rather than suffer pain I surely deserved. I was cruel enough to ask you to do something I knew would cause you unbearable pain. I am the one who ruined you. And now… you’re here.”

“Al, you were in agony-”

“I deserved it.”

“No, you  **didn’t-** ”

Alastor all but cackled, hitching into hysteria. “Edward, do you want to know the real number of souls I tortured as a human?  _ Two hundred and fifty three _ . I am a murderer, I am a psychopath, and I  _ enjoy it _ . The number here has dwarfed that at least twice. I am a monster and I  _ like that _ .”

“I don’t fucking care,” Husker snapped, voice thick. “I knew what the hell you were doing.”

“And that status in life has made me an Overlord here,” Alastor crooned. “You should hate this. Hate me.”

Husk shoved away and he heard the pop of fear that came with the sudden startle as Alastor’s eyes widened and fear creeped in, fear of being abandoned and rejected and feared in the eyes of someone he loved. He got on Alastor’s eye level and grabbed him by the collar, slamming their mouths together. Alastor let out a small startled squeak and the noise that seemed to follow him melted into something like a rapid heartbeat fluttering as Husk pinned him to the pillows. He felt Alastor’s legs hike up on either side of his waist as Husk tried to assault him with physical affection to convince this bullheaded idiot that he still loved him.

Because how the fuck could he not when Alastor let out another small sound that nearly sounded like a mewl from the back of his throat, just like when Husk used to kiss the back of his neck at 3am right after making him coffee before work.

Husk broke the kiss, a thin trail of spit between them that he quickly swept away. He leaned in again and gave Al an eskimo kiss before licking the tip of Al’s nose quickly, delighting in the way Al turned pink all the way down to his shoulders. One of Alastor’s ears was turned sideways, the other cockeyed as Husk kissed his forehead too.

From the quick burst of happiness that rose in Alastor’s eyes, he seemed to get it. But it disappeared as soon as it came, vanishing into something that could only be read as self-loathing. Self-loathing that Husk was all too familiar with because he felt it every time he looked in the mirror or woke up from a nightmare of  _ Al falling lifeless in his arms with 145 pounds of impossible deadweight and sobbing against a chest that no longer had a heart beat when the cops were ripping them away from each other  _ something terrible and 

“What do I have to do to convince you, Al?” Husk whispered. “I mean fucking hell, my wedding ring made it down here with me. Ain’t that enough?”

“Mine did too,” Alastor mumbled, still extraordinarily pink. He held up a hand and Husk nearly cried again just from seeing the gold band around his finger, holding it between his paws in disbelief. When he kissed it, Alastor turned completely scarlet.

“Q-quit-”

“No.”

Husk threw himself down on Alastor’s chest, trying to soak up his presence. Alastor’s arms snaked around him again, holding him securely. Husk flared his wings, trapping them together. They laid in silence until Husk thought he was going to shatter under it into a million pieces because he still felt like he was being eaten alive. Eaten alive by everything he still dreamt of or remembered but he had Alastor. He had Alastor again and Alastor remembered him and loved him and wanted him here. Why why why did he still feel so miserable?

He sniffed and Alastor sighed through his nose. “Why are you crying?”

“Do you know what happened after you died?”

Alastor stiffened. No. No, of course he didn’t. Alastor probably tried to drown the grief of his own death with more death and more death and blood and more blood.

“The cops came and took you away. They said you were a victim of Red Knife. I couldn’t sleep the first week, and then I tried to kill myself. And failed. So then I tried again, and again but I kept fucking failing because that’s all I fucking am until I just fuckin’ drank myself to death because that’s all I’m good at.”

Alastor held him tighter. Husk heard him sniff. Husk held him tighter.

“My funeral…” Alastor rasped. Husk shook his head.

“I’m not telling you about that. I’m not torturing you with that.”

Because Alastor did not need to know that they couldn’t even open the casket because Husk’s murder was that heinous that it denied Alastor’s grief stricken mother the closure she needed to see her son one last time. Alastor didn’t need to know how she fell to the ground screaming while Husk’s mom held her, held a woman who had lost both her husband and son violently and suddenly. Alastor didn’t need to know that Husk was drunk through the entire affair, or that his first suicide attempt came that very night after they put him in the ground and his sister had found him in their apartment bathroom and had to get his stomach pumped.

Alastor  **_did not need to know_ ** .

Because it would break whatever fragile progress they’d made.

“We both feel like shit over what happened,” Husk muttered. “It’s got us both fucked up. But… can we please just. Can I please just stay with you?”

“Why would you want to? Surely you’ve heard of the Radio Demon, Edward?”

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

Alastor chuckled. “What was your first hint?”

Husk grimaced, but it faded when he saw Alastor’s little grin creep back on his lips. It made his head swim with how familiar this all was. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want anything without you, even if you’re batshit insane now. I just want my Alastor.”

Alastor just nodded and both of their shoulders finally relaxed. Husk sat back up and looked down at Al, who looked exhausted and worn out, but managed a small smile. Alastor rolled onto his side, taking Husk with him when Husk caught another glimpse of it again.

“You have a deer tail.”

“And you’re a giant cat with wings,” Alastor retorted, gaze pointedly sharp. Husk cracked a smirk.

“If I was a dog, would you hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” Alastor frowned. “That’s not funny.”

Husk sighed, flopping back down across from him. Alastor closed his eyes as Husk went to grab a blanket, tail flicking, when he saw it again. And yeah, he was staring because Al’s ass somehow seemed somehow better with the damn tail attached to it. Alastor must have sensed Husk watching him because an eye flickered open and on with a click and buzz of noise, throwing himself back on his back. Hiding his cute fluffy tail. Husk felt a note of disappointment.

“Edward Alexander,” Alastor growled, eyes narrowed. Husker grinned like the devil, pulling the blankets up over them.

“Just let me touch it.”

“NO,” Alastor’s face flushed with a scowl. “The asexuality hasn’t changed either, Edward.”

“I’m not asking to have sex with you, I’m asking to touch your tail.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“To piss you off,” Al grinned. Husk huffed and prayed Alastor’s strength did not manifest physically because he was gonna touch that damn tail if it killed him. He pounced on Alastor, who responded with a colorful string of French and limbs, trying to get to it when Alastor fucking  _ bit him _ .

“What the fuck!”

“Knock it off!” Alastor hissed. Husk relented and flopped down to face Alastor, arms crossed over his chest.

“I purr,” Husk snapped. “Which is arguably much fucking worse than you being a cute deer demon.”

When Alastor’s eyes lit up, Husk regretted his choice of words instantly. Alastor reached to start pulling Husk towards him, namely at his ears, when Husk leaned as far back as humanly possible.

“You can hear me purr if I can touch your tail.”

Alastor glowered at him. “Why are you obsessed with this minor aspect of my appearance?”

“Because  _ it’s cute _ .”

Alastor rolled his eyes and just tucked himself against Husk, falling into their usual position with his head laying on Husk’s shoulder. Husk tucked his chin carefully between Alastor’s antlers, burying his nose in soft fluffy hair that smelled like amber and spices and sun. Alastor’s arms wrapped around his neck as Husk’s fell around his waist, Al’s leg thrown over Husk’s. He rolled his shoulders once before settling, letting the bones pop and ache before actually settling down.

Husk took his chances and reached to pet Alastor’s tail.

Judging from Alastor jolting like he’d been electrocuted and from the way he suddenly clung to Husk’s form jumping away from where’d he’d been touched from, he did not like it very much. Alastor glared up at him and went right for the ears, scratching behind Husk’s left ear to try and get back at him.

Husk was more than happy to purr with Alastor at his side again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :> follow me on tumblr to yell at me some more i guess  
> @wi-fidelis

**Author's Note:**

> :>  
> i'll post something cute soon


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